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by goodbye31bluesky
Summary: "Things do not change. We change."
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: This is my first try at a coherent story. I apologize in advance for mistakes of any kind. Please, point them out kindly, so I can get better. :). As a warning, I must say, this is not a happy story, and that, I've learned I should specify, it means it involves a major character death. Tried. Couldn't. I love the drama and angst too much. Maybe I am in serious need of therapy sessions . Also, I know the story is short, and normally wouldn't make a chapter in itself, but the five-chapter partition made sense in my head in relation with its fragmented style.

Chapter 1

It was in her eyes. It had always been in her eyes. A slight flicker, though, and she would revert to a cold stare. A quick glance at the clock came with a sigh of disapproval. Late again. Him, she understood, or rather became accustomed to, but McGee? The sudden chirp of the elevator unveiled a fast-moving scene, with a number of people trying frantically to reach their desks.

"Odd." , Ziva mumbled, squinting at her struggling co-worker. McGee had managed to paint his standard plain white shirt in a dirty shade of brown, courtesy of the unusually busy elevator and the undeniable cup of the morning coffee.

"Knew I should have taken the stairs." he grumbled dissatisfied, as he reached for the wipes on his desk.

"It would not do any good now. Might as well change it. What is with the rustle, anyway?"

The office was always busy. Ringing phones, heated arguments, and occasional victory screams were all part of a natural commotion. Not the anxiety or the agitated whispers, though. Change had occurred, and Ziva was bent on uncovering the reason. But McGee shrugged unknowingly, still distracted.

"Grab your gear. Dead bodies. " , a deep, unmistakeable voice answered. Gibbs was already holstering his weapon, and his worried look was a harsh indication of another gruelling case.

"Where are we going, Gibbs?" Ziva asked with caution, trying to ascertain the severity of the situation.

"Somewhere we'll wish we had never gone, Ziver." His words were loud, clear, engulfed in a sadness masked by determination and anger, and, more than anything, an unspoken declaration of war. One which had no alternative endings, but blood and death.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Something was missing. Constant chatter, raunchy jokes. The overwhelming smell of expensive masculine perfume.

"DiNozzo."

"Late. Overslept. Meeting us at the crime scene." McGee announced unceremoniously, trying to button his new, clean shirt and open car`s door at the same time. Once on the road, the view became a blur of colours and shapes. Watching the needle of the speedometer batting at 140, he mentally congratulated himself for skipping breakfast.

No name, no address, no calls, nothing to track. To type, to hide behind a monitor. He understood. It was going to be one of the days they would end up drowning the images, the horror, the darkness in a restless sleep, a constant, desperate ideal of righting an irreversible wrong.

The car came to a sudden halt. Usually, a quiet neighbourhood. Now, the silence resonated. No ambulances, no sirens. A frozen crowd of five, a cry for help, a horrified shriek. The herds started to gather. The sound of hurried footsteps intensified, and yet, nobody dared to cross the invisible line marked by terror.

The team took a deep breath. Synchronised, they made their way to the crime scene. The smell of burnt flesh, the sight of body parts clustered together, discarded with a violence hard to stomach. McGee held back the urge to scream, to cry, to vomit, to hit, to maim, to kill. The outline of a tiny body, a hand clutching, holding on desperately, to a now inexistent sliver of hope.

He turned his head. More death. Another four. The camera shutter snapped furiously. Every image gnawed at the shreds of self-control left in him. Bits and pieces of conversations tumbled in his head. Ziva`s voice, a lifeline. He pushed aside thoughts and memories. Looking up, McGee searched for an escape, for a tell of a recurring nightmare. There was none.

Tony. "When did you...?" he started, his voice weak. It didn't matter. He didn`t wait for an answer he knew it wouldn`t come. The micro-expressions on his partner`s face mirrored his. Anger, disbelief, shock, horror, hatred, grief. There were no words for that moment, no jokes, no witty comments.

"Sketch, DiNozzo." Gibbs ordered. Anger faltered behind. He didn`t flinch. He deserved it.

Ten forty-five. Three hours. Five bodies. Countless bags of evidence. It amounted to a quiet ride back to headquarters. They had to make some sense of this. This time, it went beyond a dead marine. A family, their whole world, ripped apart.

"No survivors." Gibbs vowed, approval meeting his words. They would have no mercy, no leniency or compassion for the guilty.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Ten weeks of incessant work, of chasing down leads, of questioning sick, twisted individuals, an eternity of searching for certitude, of pushing further and further their breaking points came down to a single moment. A decision, a fate changed, a heart shattered.

A final scene, developing in a slow motion, contrast to the blur of events the previous weeks had been. A small ceremony of victory, as those responsible fought the cuffs tightly pressed against their wrists. Aligned before a wall, they seemed to await an execution. Enemies foreign. Their hatred so deep, so blinding, it didn`t cast mercy. Not on the families, the children, the innocents they had killed in a quest for revenge without purpose.

It hit her. It was over. She lowered the gun, her gaze lost on the two corpses in front of her. Slightly shaking, exhaustion and realization kicking in, she checked for a pulse, although she knew she hadn`t missed. Similar motions were made by her McGee. They both looked relieved and thankful. It had finally ended.

Watching over, Gibbs shook his head. He didn`t know why, but he couldn`t share the relief. A loud ring interrupted his train of thoughts. The director. He flipped his old phone open, the feeling of dread sinking in. "Gibbs. Yes. Neutralized. Two dead, three woun.." His sentence remained incomplete. He saw his senior field agent running toward him just as a piercing cry tore through the air. Three loud thuds, a force crushing him, pinning him to the ground. Then darkness.

A peck of light. He saw it. If he could open his eyes, he would understand. It didn`t hurt. Someone was calling his name. Ziva, her voice scared, confused. She was asking something. He couldn`t make it out. It seemed far away. Seconds, or hours later, a gentle hand on his chest. He knew. It was over, indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Gibbs." Ziva filled the word with as many emotions as she could. Repentance, concern, worry, despair, need. Need for guidance, for confirmation, for control. None escaped the team leader. But he couldn`t offer forgiveness or comfort. Not when he looked at the unusually still body on the floor beside him.

He remembered the unmistakeable sound of gunshots after his painful contact with the concrete floor. Then, a number of alarmed screams. He finally processed the events, when, in an effort to get up, he realised something heavy was pressing against him, preventing him from moving.

"DiNozzo." He mumbled, gathering every ounce of strength, and put a reassuring hand on the unmoving silhouette. No response. Without any warning, his field of vision was obscured by McGee. Suddenly, he felt free of the pressure. Impatient, he rose to his feet, dizziness ensuing. A steady hand offered him support, but he couldn`t feel anything anymore. The sight before him was cruel, heartbreaking, unbearable.

No movie reference. No inappropriate joke. Nothing. Just stillness. He knew. As much as Ziva tried, pushed, pressed, screamed at him, she would remain unanswered.

"Ziva." He whispered, kneeling beside her. Putting his hand on her shoulder, and pulling her into a paternal embrace, he muttered "I know.", fighting back his own demons, his own memories.


	5. Chapter 5

Epilogue

Spring had brought warmer days. She sat on the grass, her hand on the cold marble. Cold, impenetrable, distant. Everything he was not. It tore her up inside. The unspoken words, the moments that would never be. But there were no more tears in her. She made him a promise. To be strong. To be the person he always knew she was.

A cold hand reached her shoulder. A familiar scent. Sawdust and bourbon. These days, in large quantities. She nodded understandingly.

He needed time. He wanted more. The lifelessness was unbearable. Quiet. He didn't want quiet. It gave him time to deal with demons long buried. The guilt would never go away. But he understood. This was the way he always wanted to go. Loyal, selfless, knowing he made a difference. It was the last testament to his trust, to his devotion and faith. There were no words for what he meant to him. Only regret. He ripped the last piece of his broken heart, offering a praise he knew was not enough. But it was more than that. It collapsed onto itself in the pride of a father. The pride of a fellow soldier. He changed the world. His, at least. There were no proper goodbyes. He left, his gazed deepened by a sadness that would never go away.

"Good job, Dinozzo."


End file.
